My Own Prison
by Deserted Eternity
Summary: WARNING: Mature content! Rape, abuse, etc. Eventual RoyxEd. Envy and Scar make life difficult for a certain young alchemist, but they say that every cloud has a silver lining.
1. A Lustful Envy

**For some reason that likely has something to do with the angsty stuff I've been worshipping lately, I felt like writing something angsty like **_**Beast Called Love**_** only with blood and violence. My Muse is so spazzy.**

**So yeah. Consider yourselves warned: mature content! There probably won't be any lovely lemons between Roy and Ed, but there will be mentions of rape, abuse, and lots of blood. And if you're an Envy fan, don't read. **

**Also, this is AU enough to flip the bird at the plot while staying in Amestris and such. Just so you know. And it's first-person Ed's POV, since I managed not to make a complete mess of first-person with Deathnote.**

* * *

"_AL_!" An inhuman howl rips from my throat as the hulking suit of armor hits the ground with a harsh _clunk_, enveloped by the shadowy, disfigured chimeras. I can hear their talons and fangs raking at the metal, the shrill sound sending stabbing waves of pain into my head. My body has already taken to much abuse; the blood-loss, exhaustion, and the relentless waves of rage, hatred, and terror have all taken their toll. So helpless am I that when an unforgiving hand grabs my formerly-neat plain of golden hair and tugs viciously, all I can do is stumble backward into my enemy's waiting grip.

"Well then, Fullmetal runt, do you give up yet?" Purrs the reason for my current deplorable state; the dark hair, equally dark eyes, handsomely-sculpted features and rich baritone voice belonging to one my faltering mind recognizes as my commanding officer, Roy Mustang. _Damn that homunculus,_ I manage to think. Envy's disturbing ability to shape-shift is yet another reason I'm in such bad shape – that bastard adopted the form and voice that I had thought no one knew I inwardly worshipped.

"I'd never…" I have to pause as a pained cough forces its way past my lips, "never submit to scum like you." I rasp, my eyes glaring hotly at the homunculus; the spark of rebellion my gold eyes retain all that's left in me.

Envy smirks, his grip tightening on my shoulder. "So you still have some fight left in you. Such a pity I have to beat it out of you, you're one of our human sacrifices after all. Well, we can't have someone as important as you running around like a stray dog, I guess I have to teach you some respect."

My lip curls. "Respect? Even a speck of dirt deserves more to respect that you do, freak." I hiss, trying not to wince as one of Envy's hands slips to my throat and tightens. His thumb digs into my windpipe and my breath is cut off as I struggle feebly, despair welling up in me as things turn gray around the edges and my vision blurs. But before I completely black out, my limp body is whirled around roughly. Envy's hand releases my throat at the same moment my back connects hard with the wall, and a pained gurgle escapes my lips. I wheeze for a moment, my breath starting to come back until Envy descends upon me like a bird of ill-omen.

Still wearing Colonel Mustang's appearance, Envy takes a handful of my crimson jacket in his hand and hoists me up, keeping my back pressed into the wall. I am hauled until I am eye-to-eye with the shape-shifter, my eyes dulled with pain staring blankly and not quite making full contact with the murky dark eyes that smirk back at me. Envy's face suddenly fades from my field of vision, and my sluggish brain doesn't have enough time to wonder what happened before I feel Envy's hot breath on the side of my face, his borrowed voice purring sickeningly. "Now now Fullmetal, you don't mean that. Just settle down and this lesson will go so much quicker for both of us. We're busy men; places to go, people to be." His chuckle sends a shiver up my spine.

* * *

"…-ther? Brother! Edward, please wake up! ED!"

Al's voice, small and childish as the empty armor gives it a hollow undertone, penetrates the dark fog that had overtaken my brain. I groan softly, having retreated into unconsciousness' welcome murk gratefully as soon as Envy had allowed it. Why do I have to leave it?

"I heard something," a familiar voice mutters, though my brain is still struggling upward through the icy blackness, so I can't place the familiarity. "He's alive." The voice affirms as I felt gentle fingers press under the right side of my jaw, finding my pulse.

"Thank God!" Cries, of all the voices, Winry's. What is Winry doing here? She should be back in Resembool with Pinako, or in Rush Valley learning more trade secrets of the automail-maker's art.

"Edward?" Says the same familiar voice, a hand coming to rest on my shoulder and shaking it gently. "Are you conscious?"

"'d rather not be," My own voice sounds cracked and slurred, alien to my ears. I slit one eye open slightly, closing it again quickly with a pained hiss as bright sunlight stabs through, goading the throbbing ache in my head further. "Where'm I?"

"The military hospital in Central." Says the voice, which my mind now identifies as Lt. Colonel Hughes. "Are you gonna stay with us, or are you gonna make me get a bucket of water?"

"Now I'm awake I'm prob'ly gunna stay that way," I mutter in reply.

"Good." Hughes says, and I can hear the smile in his voice as he pats my shoulder gently, the creaking of floorboards accompanying him as he stands. "I'll see you later then, Ed. I just had to make sure you were okay." I hear his footsteps retreating, and the soft creak as the door shuts.

The raucous _clank_ of Al's armor sends another stabbing pain trying to pry my eyeballs from my skull and I wince slightly, though a happy sigh escapes my cracked lips as cool leather touches my fevered brow. "Ed, big brother, I'm glad you're okay." Al's voice is so choked with emotion that I wonder how long I was out.

"You're all right too, Al?" I ask, remembering him being set upon.

"There isn't much those chimeras can do to my armor. Besides a few claw-marks I'm fine. But you aren't, brother. Envy dragged you away while the chimeras had me pinned down, what happened?"

I twitch slightly, my flesh hand clenching loosely. "He just beat up on me some more and let me go. I'm all right." I'm lying through my teeth, and I'm sure Al knows it, but I can't tell him what Envy really did.

"Considering that every square inch of your flesh has some sort of cut or bruise, I highly doubt that, Fullmetal." The voice that Envy had adopted sends an involuntary shudder up my spine, even though I know that it is the real Colonel Mustang speaking to me from the doorway. "Can't I leave you alone for five minutes without you getting thrashed?"

"Sorry to ruin your plans, Colonel Shit, but I can't help it that I've got these bastards out for my blood, can I?" I spit, my voice laden with more hatred than is usual even when addressing my commanding officer.

"I suppose not, though try not to let them victimize you, Fullmetal." I suppress another shudder at the smirk in his voice, relieved when I hear the sounds of his heavy boots walking away.

"…Ed?" Winry ventures diffidently, and I feel her hesitant touch on my flesh arm. "Are you sure you're gonna be okay?"

"My body'll heal fine. I dunno what Envy did to my automail, though." I mutter, assuming that my arm and/or leg much be tattered if Winry came. Honestly, I'd rather not try to remember if Envy did anything to either prosthetic limb.

"Your automail is in better shape than the rest of you." Winry states, and she sounds on the verge of tears.

"Then, why aren't you back in Rush Valley?" I ask curiously, trying to sit up and open my eyes to give my childhood friend a measured look, but Al's huge hand presses me back down.

"Why…? Because I was worried, Ed!" She squeaks. "Why shouldn't I come make sure you're okay?" Winry demands heatedly, and I can tell that she's struggling and failing to hold back tears.

Taken aback, I can't think of a good answer, so I simply remain silent.

"Look, I'm gonna go find a hotel to stay at. Whether you want me here or not, Ed, I'm going to hang around until you're better." I hear her swift footsteps, and wince as the door closes harder than was necessary.

* * *

I pull on a military-issue undershirt, disgruntled at how large it is on me. It makes me look even smaller and scrawnier, though that minor drawback is overridden by the fact that it hides the welts, bruises and lacerations all over my already-scarred torso.

"Ed, you should stay in the hospital longer," Al begins, clanking anxiously.

"Al, these are just little flesh-wounds and will heal plenty fast enough. I hate hospitals, and I'm not staying here any longer than I have to." I growl, though I immediately regret my overly sharp tone.

"I know, brother, but I just want to make sure you're okay…"Al's voice is meek and hurt.

I turn to him with a contrite expression. "Sorry, Al, but I just really want to get out of this hospital."

He seems to understand, so we check out and go back to the hotel. As soon as we get back to the room, I head for the shower. Besides having my wounds cleaned, I haven't bathed since before I got into that fight with Envy. It's been driving me insane since I was lucid enough to think; I could've asked to bathe at the hospital, but they'd ask why and I'd rather not explain my reasoning.

I turn the shower on and steam fills the room; the water is almost hot enough to scald. I step in and hiss as the water hits my skin, but I ignore the heat. I scrub myself not once but twice, getting every niche and cranny that I can access. I would have gone back over myself a third time, but the hot water had run out rather quickly, so now it's icy cold. By the time I emerge from the shower my skin is pink from the zealous scrubbing, and most of the cuts on my skin have reopened. Even after that absurdly long shower that would probably have Al wondering what my problem is, I _still_ feel unclean. I don't think I'll ever shake that feeling that almost makes my skin crawl.

I ignore Al's concerned gaze and change into a clean set of my own clothes, suppressing the desire to burn the outfit I'd worn in the fight.

"Brother, are you sure you're okay?" Al ventures anxiously.

My hands clench loosely and I pause. "Yeah, Al. I'm fine." I can't even turn to look at him, because if I do he'll see through the lie.

"…all right. Should I go get food?" He stood, his hollow-sounding voice hopeful.

"Not hungry." I mutter, throwing myself face-down on the bed. I'd lost my appetite a long time ago.

Al's involuntary twitch of surprise rattles his armor, the cacophonous sound only making this stubborn headache worse. "Are you sure? You haven't eaten since you got to the hospital…"

"I'm not hungry, all right Al?" I snap, my face half-buried in my arms. I hate myself for being so brusque, since Al only wants to help, but right now I just need plenty of personal space. I'm afraid to tell Al this, because if I did he'd wonder what was wrong. These thoughts just cause another wave of shame: I can't bear to tell anyone, even my little brother, about what's wrong. I'm so pathetic.

* * *

_Can't this bastard give me a break? I just got back from having the shit beat out of me and here Colonel Nag is summoning me for a meeting. I hope he doesn't expect to send me out on a mission or anything, 'cos there's just no damn way I'm running any errands for him for a while._ I stomp into Mustang's office, standing with arms crossed and a scowl on my face in front of his desk. "What is it this time, Colonel Shit?"

He looks up at me with an expression that is both bored and frustrated. "Fullmetal, you seriously need to not go looking for beatings. You're giving me a bad name, coming back every time covered in bruises and gashes. Should I start giving you more tame assignments, ones that don't run the rick of you getting your ass handed to you?"

I bristle, my fists clenching. "I told you before that I can't help that these damn homunculi are hell-bent on making my life miserable! Do you think I enjoy running into them?!" I snarl.

"From the way your missions are turning out, it's starting to look like you do." Mustang remarks caustically, one eyebrow lifting.

"Well, I don't." I sit heavily in one of the chairs, glaring irritably at the surface of Mustang's desk since I don't care try to look at him.

"Fullmetal, look at me." Mustang says, his voice softer than usual but firm. His words, and the tone he used, sends an involuntary shudder up my spine. I hesitantly raise my eyes, despising the rather fearful gleam that must be in them.

"I may act like an insensitive prick, but I can tell that there's something bothering you, Fullmetal. Your body language and manner are different than usual today. Care to elaborate?" His dark eyes lock with mine and I stiffen, kicking myself for reacting so obviously.

"Why should you care?" I demand, my own voice sounding meek. _Pathetic._

"When something's up with my subordinates that may affect their performance, it's part of my duty to find out what the problem is and deal with it." He replies coolly, keeping his gaze pinned on me. No matter how much I want to look away, my eyes are held.

"Nothing's 'up,' Mustang." I assert, though from the skeptical look that crosses his face, he knows it's a blatant lie. "You're just looking for a reason to be your usual nosy bastard."

"I won't deny that often times I am a nosy bastard, but you're a horrible liar, Fullmetal." He says scathingly. "I'm not trying to pry, I just want to know what's wrong. This'll go smoother for both of us if you'd cooperate."

I close my eyes, willing myself not to cringe back in the seat. "Well that's too bad, 'cos nothing is wrong."

He's silent for a few moments, and when he speaks again I can hardly hear him. I wish I _hadn't_ heard him. "The homunculus didn't just beat you, did he?"

_Pinned once more with his back against the wall, shirt torn open, belt in a shadowy corner and his pants unbuttoned and barely zipped, Ed writhed desperately to try and escape Envy's attentions, to no avail. The shape-shifter pinched one of the young alchemist's nipples, eliciting a sound that was halfway between a moan and a whimpering sob._

_Along with the gashes and nicks that the fight had given him, the teen's upper body was covered in bruises and cuts inflicted from Envy's rough treatment. He'd bear the marks of this encounter for a satisfyingly long time. The thing that delighted Envy was that, in his borrowed form, the Fullmetal runt would act like a whipped cur around his beloved colonel._

"_You see, Fullmetal, this would've gone so much faster if you hadn't been such an idiot back there. This is punishment for all the insults. Now hold still, I'm feeling merciful, so I'll just finish it up now and let you go." Envy purred to the bruised, slack-featured alchemist._

_He turned the boy around so that he faced the wall, pressing the tortured skin of his chest and abdomen into the rough wall. Pulling down the young man's tight leather pants, he reached around and grabbed Ed's chin, viciously jerking his head around so that the pain-dulled gold eyes made contact with Envy's dark ones. "Look at me while I do this, Fullmetal." Envy says, adopting the stern tone Mustang is fond of using. "And let's hope you can retain the lesson."_

_How Alphonse didn't hear the screams of pain torn from Ed's throat as the homunculus plunged into him is a mystery. The teen struggled weakly before slumping into the wall, his face held in place by a wickedly-grinning Envy, tears beading in the corners of his eyes as he gazed helplessly into the eyes of his tormentor._

I cringe, then proceed to mentally kick myself all the way back to Resembool. _Pathetic, pathetic coward. You sorry little runt. Can't protect yourself from that shape-shifting freak, and now you can't even suppress your own pathetic responses. Are you gonna go around cringing and shivering like a little kid now?_ I still have my eyes glued to the floor, after pinning them there once Mustang's stare was broken when I closed my eyes.

"Right the first time, it looks like." I can hear him mutter. "Dammit, Fullmetal, you're a magnet for abuse."

My head whips up and I glare hotly at him. "You think I can help it? You think I _enjoy_ it?" I hiss.

"No, I don't. Relax, Fullmetal." He says, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. Warily, reluctantly, I sit back in the chair, my surly gaze drifting to the desk again. His next comment makes me stiffen again. "The question I have now is, if you're willing to elaborate, why do you react so much more to me than to anyone else?"

I look at the floor to one side of the chair, an embarrassed flush turning my cheeks red. I'm surprised that Mustang can't hear me mentally berating myself. "Envy, the homunculus, can shape-shift." I explain haltingly, disgusted at the frightened squeak that is my voice. The room is suddenly choked with a heavily textured silence, and when I glance hesitantly up at Mustang, his face is a mixture of disgust, anger, and pity. Seeing this made me twitch involuntarily, suppressing a cringe.

"Well, I asked for an explanation, didn't I? If you want you can take a few days off, Fullmetal. I'll hold off assigning you mission for a week unless you come in and ask for one. You are dismissed." As soon as I can get my body to react I lurch from the chair and leave the room, just short of outright _running_ to the restroom.

_Utterly pathetic._ I stand over a sink, my automail fingers almost cracking the porcelain as I grip the rim, fighting down nausea at my own shame. _Now not only are you cringing like a beaten puppy, he's going to tell his subordinates and I'll have all of them either giving me horrified looks or smothering me with pity._

I notice a lone razor blade on the corner of the sink, and my eyes are immediately glued to the little object. The notion slithers through my mind, but it quickly squashed by the cynical side of me. _Face it, coward, you wouldn't have the balls to commit suicide. You probably couldn't even cut yourself. So pathetic. You're afraid of death, be it your own or someone else's. That's why you tried to resurrect your mother, why you stuck Al in that hulking tin can. You put Al through all that, not only having to make him put up with you getting automail, but with the pain of having that armor for a body. Neither of you know how long his soul will stay in it. It could give out any time and you'd have this jumble of inanimate armor. At least it would spare Al any more of this shit you've dragged him through._ I wince, and stop myself from snatching up the razor. _See? Pathetic._

* * *

**Whew, nasty. Envy used to be my favorite homunculus until he killed Hughes. Now Greed is my favorite. But since Envy became the one I despised, and since he has the convenient ability to shape-shift, he became the bad guy. Boo hiss.**

**By the way, if you didn't notice, the few paragraphs in italics and third-person is Ed's flashback. **


	2. One Last Breath

**After this I have no real clue how this will evolve, since the bulk of the planning of this fic was in the first chapter. But oh well. We'll see how it goes, I guess. However, it has sorta turned into a Creed songfic. Because Creed is awesome. Yes. The fic title is from a Creed song as well, which will appear later in the fic. The song for this chapter **_**One Last Breath**_**.**

* * *

_Please come now, I think I'm falling, I'm holding on to all I think is safe  
It seems I found the road to nowhere, and I'm trying to escape  
I yelled back when I heard thunder, but I'm down to one last breath  
And with it let me say, lemme say…_

I gaze absently at the glimmering steel, thinking wryly that having this automail is a convenience, at least this once.

The rule of thumb for things like this is the faster the quicker, right? Good, since I think I might lose my nerve if I don't make it fast.

_Hold me now, I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking  
Maybe six feet ain't so far down._

The double-edged blade presses into the underside of my wrist. This extension of my automail has been used too many times before to draw blood, but never has it drawn my own. I take a deep breath, willing myself to finish it, when a small creak outside the door catches me by surprise. I twitch involuntarily, which draws the blade across my skin. The pressure I'd been exerting on it wasn't quite enough to break the skin, but as I twitched the angle of the blade changed slightly, and it sliced deeper than I'd originally intended. The creak was probably just the building settling, because after that small sound there was utter silence. My inhaled breath hisses through loosely clenched teeth as the pain comes slowly, building up until it throbs with each heartbeat.

Now I'm especially glad that I asked Al to let me have the afternoon to myself. He always stays with me, but I know he must get bored out of his mind when I sit around doing not much of anything as I have been these past few days since the fight. I could tell he was worried, but at least he did go. I'd hate to have him here, to witness my latest low.

_I'm looking down now that it's over, reflecting on all of my mistakes  
I thought I found the road to somewhere, somewhere in His grace  
I cried out "heaven save me," but I'm down to one last breath  
And with it let me say, lemme say…_

_That's a lot of blood_. I marvel at the sheer volume of the crimson liquid dripping from the gash, most of the little flickering thoughts and vague ideas cluttering my mind vanishing. My senses suddenly sharpen, as if they had been out of focus before, and my thoughts are clearer; that's the work of the adrenalin. I've suffered enough wounds to recognize it. Now the endorphins released on the heels of the throbbing pain wash over me, and my inner cynic(who'd been remarking caustically about how _utterly_ pathetic this sort of thing is) finally shut up, banished by the comforting hormones. With most of the injuries I've sustained that would elicit this sort of response, I've never had the chance to consciously acknowledge the affects, since the circumstances of the injury would require my full attention to avoid getting killed. It's a rather peculiar experience being able to analyze my body's reaction to the wound.

_Hold me now, I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking  
Maybe six feet ain't so far down  
_

Belatedly, I realize that all that blood is pooling on the bare floor. That might not be the best thing to let sit around. I should clean it up. As I stand, aiming to retrieve a hand towel from the bathroom, an all-too-familiar lightheaded dizziness overcomes me and I swoon, sitting heavily back on the bed. I may've intended it to only be a shallow cut(I tell myself it was to see whether I'd really like to make that sort of exit, but really it's because I wasn't sure if I wanted to make my exit _quite_ yet), but like it or not that's a very deep gash that probably cut through several of the low-pressure veins in my wrist, so I'm losing a lot of blood. So much that here pretty soon I'm probably gonna pass –

_Hold me now, I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking  
Maybe six feet ain't so far down_

* * *

…out.

_I'm so far down…_

"Ed?" My little brother's plaintive, sad voice pierces the comfortable, drowsy fog that had stolen over my mind, bringing it back to the present. "Ed, please wake up. Why did you do this? I love you, big brother, why didn't you tell me something was wrong? I'd do anything to try and make it better, but you always try to shoulder this stuff on your own! Was it something I did, brother? Were you asking for help, and I just didn't notice? Whatever it is, I'm sorry! Just don't leave me alone! Brother…" The fact that if he had a real body Alphonse would be sobbing his guts out is painfully clear by the utter despair in his voice.

_Nice. Forgot the little problem of your brother, did you, genius?_ I slit one eye open. Dusky red-orange light filters through the shades, so I've been out for a few hours at least. Whenever Al walked in, it must've looked like I was dead. How long has he been here talking to me? Well, that question is moot. The real one is, what the hell am I gonna tell him?

I partly open the other eye and look around, finding the familiar bulk of Al's armor. He's kneeling in front of the bed where I passed out. The pool of blood is still there, drying into a black crust. I must've kept bleeding for a while even after I passed out, there's more there than I remember. Maybe he really thinks I'm dead. He has no way to check my pulse after all, being unable to feel the steady throb of the artery in my neck.

Suddenly, through my eyelids I see a shadow fall over me, and I feel Al's arms scooping me up from the bed and clutching me to his chest. "Oh brother, please don't leave me!" He repeats over and over, his voice drowned in such heartbreak and despair that a lump forms in my throat. He is crushing me so tightly to him that I'm starting to have trouble breathing.

"Al…" I gasp. "Leggo… can't… breathe!"

Al suddenly drops me, his arms flying to his sides. I land on the floor with a thump and groan, sitting up to rub at my hip. "Ow…"

"Ed!" I don't have much time to catch my breath before I'm crushed against his armor again, as he pours out his relief. "Big brother, thank God! I thought you'd died, I mean, all the blood... Brother, why would you do that? Why didn't you tell me something was wrong? Why? Don't worry me like that again, Ed!"

"Let. Me. Breathe. Please!" I wheeze, knocking on his armor with a knuckle like we tap out in sparring matches. He releases me and I gulp in a breath of air, pulling myself back up on the bed.

"Sorry, brother. Sorry." Al mutters, though I hold up a hand before he can go into another ramble.

"Look Al, I'm the one who should be sorry. I didn't mean for you to walk in with me unconscious in a pool of my own blood." I hesitate, looking at his unmoving features which I'm sure would be stained with tears had they been of flesh.

"Well, mean it or not, I did anyhow." Al mutters quietly. "Just tell me why, brother! That's all I want to know."

I rub the back of my neck, wincing slightly and switching to my right hand. The left wrist is still quite tender. "It… it's complicated, Al. I'm not sure if I completely understand it myself."

"Why didn't you tell me something was wrong, Ed? If you had just told me, I would've done all I could to make it right!"

"There's nothing anyone can do, Al." I reply bitterly, averting my gaze. "No one can turn back time and undo something that's been done; that should be painfully clear to _both_ of us by now." I point to his hulking armor with my automail arm, one eyebrow lifting cynically.

His twitch rattles the suit of armor noisily. "…I know, brother. But… what would make you do this? What could possibly have driven you to this? The Edward I know is too strong to stoop to self-mutilation."

_Sad eyes follow me, but I still believe there's something left for me,  
So please come stay with me!  
'Cos I still believe there's something left for you and me, for you and me, for you and me_

I barely suppress my own wince. Try as I may to think of a retort, nothing comes to mind that wouldn't hurt Al further. I can't tell him why. He's my little brother, he shouldn't have to deal with this. It happened to me, it's my burden to bear. He has his own set of troubles, like that armor. We don't know how long his soul can remain tied to it. He doesn't need the added worry on top of that.

_Hold me now, I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking (thinking) …_

"Ed, please talk to me." Al says, his voice small. "I know what you're thinking: I already have the stuff with this armor to deal with and don't need to worry about something that's happened to you. But brother, when you clam up like this and hurt yourself like this, it's worse for me. I worry either way, and when I don't know what's wrong I worry even more."

_He knows me as well as I do, if not better_. I sigh slightly, still avoiding his gaze. There went my main defense. "I'd rather not talk about it." I mutter softly, my face turning red in shame. It disgusts me to an extent that I never knew I could be disgusted, and the fact that I tried and failed to take my own life and was caught by my little brother just deepens the shame and disgust. At the moment, my opinion of myself has never been lower. Back when I was getting my automail, I blamed myself for what happened, but I still had enough hope that we could get Al's body and my limbs back. Now, though, some of that childish naivety has been worn away, leaving room for my cynical side to chip slowly away at my self-confidence. Back then I was concentrating too hard on recovering to get my State Alchemist's license and getting Al's body back to hate myself, but now I only feel shame and disgust. A pity, really, that I only passed out from blood loss. Next time I'll remember to make a cut along my arm, not across the wrist.

_Hold me now, I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking,  
Maybe six feet ain't so far down_

"Ed… why won't you tell me? If you're afraid I'll hate you, that's completely wrong. You're my big brother, I'll always love you! Please, can I just know what's the matter? Is it something I did or didn't do?"

The desperation in Al's voice makes a lump form in my throat. "No, it's not your fault." I choke out, my fists loosely clenching. "I just don't wanna talk about it."

The cool leather of Al's hand lightly touches one of the bruises on my collarbone that, like the rest, is turning a _very_ attractive shade of yellow. "It has something to do with the fight with Envy, doesn't it?" Al ventured quietly.

My body stiffens instinctively, and my real hand smacks his gauntlet away. "Leave it, Al! Just leave me alone!" I hiss, fighting to keep moisture from beading in the corners of my eyes.

_Hold me now, I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking  
Maybe six feet ain't so far down_

If Al had a human face, it would probably adopt a hurt expression. He stands slowly, turning to head out the door. "…all right, brother. If that's what you want. Please don't start cutting yourself again, if you don't do anything else for me." He mutters quietly. The door closes with a soft _clack_, and I throw myself face-down on the bed, struggling and eventually failing to hold in sobs of despair and shame.

_  
Please come now, I think I'm falling, I'm holding on to all I think is safe…_

* * *

**At this point, I'm not sure whether I feel worse for Ed or Al. Though I do know that it's a really good thing I don't own the rights to the actual series. XD**


	3. I've Created My Own Prison

**Yay. Having fans gushing about my fics helps me update faster, so keep the ego-boosting stuff coming! XD I don't think I'll match the pretty much chapter-a-day record I set for **_**Delightful Impossibility**_**, but methinks if the reviews keep up it'll come close.**

**The song for this chapter is **_**My Own Prison**_**, after which this fic was named.**

* * *

The street I wander down is lined with stalls, the countertops within them displaying a range of goods. People pack the narrow lane; the variety of colors of clothing, the sounds of people talking and arguing, the smells of food mingling with smoke and I don't know what else; all these would normally overload my senses. At the moment; however, I'm running on auto-pilot.

Since Al found me in a puddle of my own blood, obviously things have been a bit tense. Usually he's always really stubborn in making me do something that's good for me whether I want to or not, so when I asked him to let me have some breathing room for a while, I expected him to keep on me to make sure I didn't start cutting again. I was surprised when he actually backed off. I haven't seen him quite as much these past few days, which in a way is a relief. Now I have some space, and I don't feel like he's crowding me out trying to find out what's wrong. But also, it's starting to get me down.

There's the rub, I guess. On the one hand I'm glad he backed off, but on the other hand I'm starting to miss seeing him. After all, we've hardly spent a day since Mom died where we haven't been within a few feet of each other. I think inwardly my mind knows that this is when I'd need him most to help me deal with it and make sure I don't do something stupid like slicing my wrists, but the other part of me is still having fifteen fits and falling in them when someone gets near me.

_Court is in session, the verdict is in  
No appeal on the docket today, just my own sin  
The walls are cold and pale, the cage made of steel  
Screams fill the room, alone I drop and kneel _

I'm not really paying attention to where I walk; just wandering aimlessly, trying to escape my inner cynic's barbed comments. I hear a cracked, gravelly voice singing softly to the strum of a beat-up guitar, and glance at the beggar propped against the outer wall of a building along the street. The voice and instrument aren't the best, but I've heard far worse. I swerve a bit in my path, digging a few coins out of my jacket-pocket to drop into the man's open guitar case. I wave a hand absently as his cracked voice mutters a thanks and continue my journey, not caring where it takes me.

I pass under several more awnings and suddenly they stop; I look up from the grimy paving stones to see that I've come out into a sprawling square. Once I get my bearings, I recognize that I'm quite a distance from the military headquarters, near the edge of the city. I'd come farther than expected. I was just beginning to contemplate turning back, when a flickering movement in the shadowy recess of an alley drawn my attention.

"Edward Elric. It has been a while." Rumbles a familiar voice from the alley. I squint to peer into the dim murk, my eyes widening as they fall upon a tall figure shrouded in shadows. Vaguely, I can see a white jacket and sunglasses. As the figure lifts a hand to adjust his glasses, I notice that his skin is a dark bronze. He steps out of the shadows, and I can now clearly see the ribbed scar stretching from either side of his brow down across his cheekbones. How that injury missed blinding him, I'll never know.

_Silence now the sound, my breath the only motion around  
Demons clutterin' around, My face showin' no emotion  
Shackled by my sentence, expecting no return  
Here there is no penance, my skin begins to burn_

"Scar." I mutter, facing the Ishbalan vigilante and squaring my shoulders. "I didn't think you'd show your face back here in Central for a while, considering the way you had to run last time."

"You State Alchemists never quit, so neither can I. You are most dense in Central, so here is where I work." Scar replies evenly, cracking his knuckles. I wish I could do that, but my automail knuckles don't pop.

"Good point. But why bother going for rank-and-file State Alchemists like me, when you have people like Colonel Mustang you can go for?" I ask. Honestly, I am rather curious why he seems to go after _me_.

He snorts dryly. "His status means he has at least one aide at his side to protect him. It is more difficult to get within range if someone is firing a gun at me from afar."

"Well, d'oh."

Scar rolls his shoulders, and as he takes a step forward I take a few back. _He's quick off the mark today_. I observe wryly. I touch my hands together, drawing the familiar double-edged blade from my automail. "Well, fine. If you're determined to pick on me, I might as well pick back!"

They say the best defense is a good offence, so I decide to test out that theory. I lunge forward, ducking under Scar's hand and making an upward slash. My blade slices into his cheek, though he reels back too fast for it to do much more than nick the skin. I barely manage to avoid his flailing right arm, pulling my own back in just before he can grab it.

_(And I said oh) So I held my head up high, hiding hate that burns inside  
Which only fuels their selfish pride  
(And I said oh) We're all held captive out from the sun  
A sun that shines on only some  
We the meek are all in one_

He dances nimbly backwards, bracing his left hand against his right elbow. _Doesn't waste energy talking, does he?_ As Scar suddenly charges I dive to one side, rolling over once or twice before scrambling to my feet. _Having Al around would help a lot…_ I see Scar's right hand swinging at me from the corner of my vision, and with a yelp I clap my hands together, slamming them down on the ground below me. A ragged wall rises up between us. In a shower of debris and alchemical sparks the wall disintegrates under Scar's blow, forcing me to duck and skip away to avoid getting hit.

A notion enters my mind, and my inner cynic chuckles caustically. _If you can't manage to finish the job yourself, here's someone who's perfectly willing to do it for ya. Genius. He nearly got you the first time, remember?_ But as I contemplate letting him do just that Scar makes another lunge, and I lurch out of the way instinctively, batting his arm away. _My instinct is to fight. Teacher drilled it into us so many times the reaction is to block and attack. It's served me well so far, but the one time I might actually want to not fight back that's what my body does anyhow._ I snort wryly, ducking under another thrust and making a swipe at Scar's abdomen with my automail-blade. He leans back, going into a one-handed cartwheel to avoid the blade. It's my turn to back up as his boot-shod feet whistle just inches from my face.

On sudden inspiration I crouch down, swinging one leg around in a vicious arc toward his ground-bound hand. He pushes himself up with the one hand, doubling his body up so that his boots come crashing down onto my shoulders. I wheeze painfully, the breath knocked from my lungs as I collapse under his superior weight. _Oh, well, that works too_.

"You move more slowly than I remember from our last fight. Why the hesitation? Have you been injured?" Scar muttered.

_Why would he care?_ "Yeah, kinda got the shit beat out of me the other day. Nothing major, just stayed out cold for a day or two." I reply sarcastically, struggling to get enough air to breathe and talk.

"Unfortunate. You must still be recovering, then. It looks like one of your wounds has re-opened." He pointed out, and I glance at the blood trickling down the fingers of my left hand. Not surprising that gash re-opened. "Well, I shall end your discomfort." He added, stepping off my back.

I gasp in a big breath of air, pushing myself to my hands and knees. No use in running, he'd easily catch me. Not to mention that this way, I can't botch it and do a half-assed job. I just hope Scar's method isn't as painful as it looks. "Hnn, thanks." I mutter, rubbing my chest where it had been pressing into the rough ground.

I vaguely hear someone shouting my name. Before I can turn to look, a bright flash of light to one side blurs my vision, and I feel extreme heat on my back. I hear Scar's grunt of surprise and his heavy boots stumbling away.

"Next time it'll take your hand, Scar." I stiffen, turning slightly to look over at Mustang. His dark eyes are narrowed venomously, a sneer threatening to curl his lip. He's still holding out his hand, so he must've just shot a tendril of flame between me and Scar.

I grit my teeth, surging to my feet to face Mustang. "Thanks, Colonel Shit, you nearly lit _me_ on fire." I growl, my fists clenching. "Do you enjoy suddenly appearing in the nick of time to save the victim like some cliché hero, or is it just me?"

His eyebrow lifts scathingly. "Oh, shut up, Fullmetal. If I _hadn't_ shown up you'd be alchemist stew in a bag of skin. Can you ever once be grateful for getting your ass saved?"

_I didn't want to be saved!_ "If I hadn't been saved by such an arrogant sonuva bitch then I'd be grateful all over myself!" I retort, crossing my arms belligerently.

"Both of you hush. There's still Scar to deal with." Hawkeye cuts in, giving us both disapproving looks. I shut my mouth with a snap, still glaring irritably at Mustang. He just smirks and turns to Scar.

"Good point, Lt. Hawkeye. Shall we take care of him, then?"

Scar lurches out of the way as a few of the soldiers Mustang had brought with him advance; I scramble backward as I notice that his path brings him uncomfortably close to me. However, he suddenly changes direction, and I don't have time to react much when he abruptly looms over me with a hand raised. My body starts to move away, but Scar brings his hand down on me before I can get out of range.

Searing pain spreads out from the left side of my abdomen, and I manage a strangled gurgle of pain before I black out.

_I hear a thunder in the distance, see a vision of a cross  
I feel the pain that was given on that sad day of loss  
A lion roars in the darkness, only he holds the key  
A light to free me from my burden and grant me life eternally_…

* * *

_Ow. Ow. Ow._ My minds swims back up through the icy fog of unconsciousness once more, though only a sharp throbbing ache is there to greet my awakening. My first coherent thought as I come back around is, _dammit, why can't I just die already?!_

_Should'a been dead on a Sunday morning, bangin' my head  
No time for mournin', ain't got no time  
Should'a been dead on a Sunday morning, bangin' my head  
No time for mournin', ain't got no time_

It seems that Scar's attack is only lethal if his hand is within a certain distance of a vital organ like the brain or heart. Though he did plenty enough damage from the amount of pain I'm feeling. It's like the whole bottom left side of my torso is afire.

_A kidney, about half my small intestine and colon, and probably a whole shitwad of muscle, all likely gone. Breathing hurts. A lot. Either it got my diaphragm, or more likely it shattered and cracked a few ribs. Hmm, then maybe it did some damage to my liver. Ow, lungs are bruised. It may've battered my diaphragm a bit after all._ My dispassionate analysis of my injury is cut short as I finally become aware of another presence in the room.

I can only sense the person's presence; they are silent besides the quiet sound of their breath, which is the second tip-off to that tells me it isn't Al. Whether or not Al tries to keep still, the slightest movement always rattles the armor. Not to mention, armor can't breathe. So who is here, if Al isn't?

I slit my eye open, noticing that the light filtering into the hospital room is a dim blue; it's twilight. I've probably been out for a few days, from a combination of pain and blood-loss and from anesthetics.

_(And I said oh) So I held my head up high, hiding hate that burns inside  
Which only fuels their selfish pride  
(And I said oh) We're all held captive out from the sun  
A sun that shines on only some  
We the meek are all in one_

Since it's dark I open my eyes fully, blinking until they adjust. The person sitting in a chair near the foot of my bed is the last person I expected to see, and in the sort of pose I would never expect him to adopt.

He has his elbows propped up on his knees, with his fingers tangled in his glossy black hair, brow resting on the heels of his hands. He looks so absolutely dejected that I can't help sitting up, fixing my superior with a measured look. "Colonel Mustang?"

His head snapped up, and I almost winced at the desperate gleam in his usually calm dark eyes. "Ed! Jesus Christ, you had me worried. You've been out for almost three days. The doctors said the sedatives would wear off soon."

I shift uncomfortably, grimacing slightly. "I figured as much. Did the doctors tell the extent of the damage?"

"I only remember them mentioning that you have no more left kidney, your intestines were mangled, your lungs were bruised and the left one almost collapsed, and about half the ribs on your left side were in shards." He explained, looking contrite. Why would he be contrite?

"Yeah, thought so." I lean back into the pillow, grateful that the bed had been elevated. "Well, I'm alive." I sigh heavily, thinking that this business of dying is harder than many people make it out to be.

"It's a wonder, considering what Scar did to you." Mustang replies softly, sighing slightly. "Someone up there likes you, Ed."

_More's the pity_. I snort caustically. "Either that or they hate me so much they want to keep me out." Then, I realize something and level a searching gaze on him. "Why are you calling me Ed all of a sudden?"

He looks taken aback for a moment, and I could swear I see a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "Truthfully, I've been worried out of my mind. And, I owe you an apology."

Now it's my turn to be surprised. "An apology? For what?"

"For everything, really. I've been a royal prick to you, for one thing. And, even though it's not really my fault, I'm sorry for what happened to you the other day." His voice is so uncharacteristic I wonder if he's on something.

"It's Envy's fault, the bastard. It's nothing you did that made him shape-shift into you." I say, slightly worried. This isn't like Mustang at all.

"Yeah, well. Alphonse told me about…" He gestured to my wrist. "That's part of it too."

I wrap my automail hand around my wrist. "This is completely my own idiocy."

He winces slightly, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "Yeah. It always seems that way, doesn't it?" He shakes his head, chuckling sadly. "Especially right before and right after."

I look up. "You've…"

"Well, I didn't have access to a knife. What I had was a pistol." He explains, his lips twisted bitterly.

_I cry out to God seekin' only his decision,  
Gabr'el stands and confirms, I've created my own prison  
I cry out to God seekin' only his decision,  
Gabr'el stands and confirms, I've created my own prison_

Blinking slowly, I lean back into the pillows again. _I never would've guessed_. "Well, maybe that's what I should've used. Can't really fuck around with a gun, can you?" I remark caustically.

He looks up at me sharply, his eyes hardening. "Ed, I'm telling you right now, just leave it alone. I know how it feels, I know life blows, but don't lower yourself to that."

I hold up my bandaged wrist wryly. "Too late for that."

_(And I said oh) So I held my head up high, hiding hate that burns inside  
Which only fuels their selfish pride  
(And I said oh) We're all held captive out from the sun  
A sun that shines on only some  
We the meek are all in one_

"So quit while you're ahead." He retorts. "Trust me Ed, it's not worth it. Especially not to someone like you. You've still got the Philosopher's stone to find, remember? You're supposed to get your arm and leg and Al's body back."

A muted bark of derisive laughter comes out as a scathing snort. "Remember what I found in Marcoh's notes, Mustang? I wondered why he said my intended use for the Stone was 'trite,' until I saw that." I can't suppress a shudder. "Besides, after that the trail went cold. I've been too busy trying, and failing, to avoid running into those damned homunculi."

_(And I said oh) So I held my head up high, hiding hate that burns inside  
Which only fuels their selfish pride  
And I said oh, (I created)__We're all held captive out from the sun, a sun that shines on only some  
(I created ... I created), we the meek are all in one  
I created my own prison!_

The door cracks open, and a nurse pokes his head in. "Oh, you're awake. Your brother is out here, do you want to see him? He said he'd wait until you woke up."

Mustang stands, straightening his long overcoat and running a hand through his hair to smooth it. "Right. Whenever you get released, I'll expect you back at work, Fullmetal."

I roll my eyes as he walks out, and turn back to the nurse. "Yes, please let Al in." I wonder vaguely why Al would wait outside. I fully expected him to be in here with me when I woke up.

The nurse bobs his head and disappears, and after a few moments I hear the familiar clatter of Al's armor. He walks hesitantly into the room, sitting in the seat Mustang vacated. "Ed, are you all right?" He sounds so meek and worried that I have to swallow hard.

"I'll live." I just stop myself from adding 'unfortunately' to the end of the sentence.

_Should'a been dead on a Sunday mornin', bangin' my head  
No time for mournin', ain't got no time…_

"Colonel Mustang told me about what happened. I'm sorry I wasn't there to fight with you, brother." He looks away, fidgeting anxiously.

"That's my fault for being a touchy little idiot, Al." I reply with a snort.

"Well, I'm glad you're okay, Ed. Just promise me to give getting attacked a break for a while?"

I have to chuckle wanly at Al's attempt at a joke. "I'll try, Al."

* * *

**You might notice that all the stuff that brings Ed close to death, like the cutting and the injury he got, is more or less accidental. I think Ed's sense of self-preservation and survival instincts are just too strong for him to purposefully try to kill himself. If they weren't, he wouldn't have been able to get through the automail surgery and such. He wants to be emo, but he doesn't have enough balls. XDD**


	4. Wash Away Those Years

**This chapter's song is **_**Wash Away Those Years**_**. The lyrics have been edited a bit to suit the fic.**

* * *

"Depending on the success of this surgery, we may or may not have to do one or two more." The doctor explained, looking grim. "Whatever happened, it busted him up bad. It's a good thing he's as resilient as he is, or he'd probably have flat-lined by now. We're gonna have to go in and try to clean up the mess of his intestines."

It turns out I wasn't injured to the extent I'd originally expected; my liver and most of my small intestine and colon are mostly intact, but the parts near where Scar got me are in shreds. I'll have a considerably shorter gut after this, but at least it'll be something. I haven't eaten anything in days, and I'm bloody _hungry_. They've been too afraid to even feed me from a drip, since my innards are in such a mess.

"Well, then we'll hope this one works!" I mutter, not looking forward to it at all. I despise doctors and hospitals, and waking up from being drugged is hell. Not to mention, the more surgeries, the longer I have to stay here. "When am I scheduled?"

"Tomorrow at the latest, but the sooner the better." The surgeon replied solemnly.

"Well, whenever you can get your crew rounded up, I'll be waiting." I say, pulling a resigned face. If it means I can eat and get away from here, I'd rather go under the knife as soon as possible.

"Er, doctor…" Al ventures, his armor rattling loud enough to make me wince. "Is this surgery particularly risky?"

"Any time you go mucking around in someone's abdomen there's some level of risk, and if the surgery lasts as long as I think it will there's a slightly higher chance we'll have some trouble. We can't keep anyone under sedation for too absurdly long, which would be why we might end up having to do several surgeries." The surgeon rubs the back of his neck, shrugging slightly. "My main concern is the state we'll find his intestines in and what options will be open to us. Automail is fine for limbs, but you kinda need your real guts."

I snort wryly, clenching and unclenching my right hand absently. "Yeah, Winry and Granny Pinako would have some trouble with that." A mirthless chuckle drips from my mouth.

"What will the recovery time be, do you think?" Mustang puts in; practically the first time he's spoken since the surgeon came in to explain. He sits with his fingers steepled in front of his face, staring rather fixedly at the surgeon.

"If we're lucky and he only needs one surgery, I'd give him a month, just to be safe." The surgeon explains, and I groan in despair.

"All right. Fullmetal, you are _not_ leaving this hospital until the doctors deem you fit to be discharged." Mustang says, leveling a stern finger at me. "I won't have you running around half-healed; with your luck you'd end up back here pretty quickly."

"With my luck I'll wind up back here soon enough anyhow." I retort, though his words surprised me a bit. Not so much what he said as the way he said it. He actually started to sound a lot like Al scolding me, and not like the arrogant officer I'm more used to. What's come over him?

"Well, there's no need to speed up the process by leaving before you've healed." Mustang's dark eyes bore into me, and though I've gotten over myself enough by now not to cringe like a whipped dog, his intense stare still unnerves me a bit.

* * *

"… -re you sure he'll be all right?" I vaguely hear Al's worried voice, and the hollow _clank_ as he shifts restlessly.

"His condition has been stable for the past hour or so, he'll be fine." The surgeon's voice drifts into my drug-fogged brain, making me wonder what happened. I've been blissfully ignorant of the goings on of the world while my mind drifted along in the ether

"Okay." From Al's voice, he doesn't completely believe the surgeon. "When is he supposed to come back around?"

"He should wake up any time now. One of you can go see if he's awake now, if you like." The surgeon replies.

The faint creak of a chair, and I feel the rough fabric of Mustang's glove on the side of my face. His touch is surprisingly gentle, as if he's afraid to wake me up. "Hey Ed, you lucid?" He murmurs into my ear. His breath as it washes over my face smells of cinnamon and cigarette smoke. "I noticed your breathing change."

"Awake yes, lucid not so much." I mutter, almost trying to sit up and thinking better of it. "So what happened?"

"Well, we managed to patch up your intestines, which is a good thing. You should be able to eat normally now, and we won't have to go mucking around in there again. You did give us a bit of a scare; toward the end as we were about to close up, your heart started to falter." I open my eyes, blinking as I wait for them to adjust before glancing at the surgeon. "It wasn't completely unexpected, though. That happens occasionally when someone's been anesthetized for a little too long. I was afraid we'd have to bring out the defibrulator there for a few minutes, but you're fine now."

I snort dryly. "So my heart almost stopped?"

"There were a few places where we thought it had, but it was just a weird palpitation."

"Nice. So, the near-death experience over with, I have a month in this place to sit around and do nothing besides get bored out of my wits." I mutter.

"Unfortunately, yes." The surgeon chuckles, standing up. "And since you're awake enough to talk coherently, I'll take my leave."

The cool leather of Al's gauntlet chills the skin of my flesh arm. "I'm glad you're okay, brother. When the doctor told us what happened, the Colonel and I almost had a panic attack."

_Mustang too?_ "Hnn, can't say I feel the same. I was pretty out of it, by that point." I comment sarcastically. "Seems like my body won't let me die, will it?"

_He came calling one early morning,  
He showed his crown of thorns.  
He whispered softly to tell a story  
About how he had been wronged._

"Your body has more sense than you do, then." Mustang retorts, one eyebrow lifting scathingly.

_As he lay lifeless, they stole his innocence,__  
And this is how he carried on.  
This is how he carried on…_

"Oh, I should call Winry and Granny." Al suddenly says, straightening up. "Be right back." He clatters out the door, and I wince slightly. When Winry finds out I almost flat-lined she'll storm up here to Central and give me a beating for being so stupid and letting Scar bust me up.

"You know, Ed, you're luckier than you think." Mustang mutters, staring absently at the half-open door. "You've got Alphonse and the two Rockbells on your side. If you'd just see that and internalize that you have people you can turn to when shit happens, perhaps you wouldn't be tempted to be an idiot."

_Well I guess he closed his eyes, and just imagined everything's all right,  
But he could not hide his tears, 'cause they were sent to wash away those years.  
They were sent to wash away those years._

"I've been relying on Winry and Granny for my automail since I got it, and I've always relied on Al to watch my back. This is something no one can take back, and they don't need to have to deal with the shit life throws at me." I reply irritably, crossing my arms.

"It makes it worse when you try to shoulder it on your own, as I'm sure Al has pointed out to you." He counters, fixing me with one dark eye. "People care about you, Ed, and when you hurt they suffer just as much. It hurts you worse when you keep it to yourself, so in turn the ones you care about and who care about you hurt more as well. If you want to spare them some pain, don't close up. If you let them help you, both parties will be the better for it." His gaze softens, and I am taken aback by the expression that creeps over Mustang's face. It's almost… fond.

"You're a typical stoic hero, Ed. Let your walls down for once. If you can find someone to listen and let you get something off your chest, you'd be surprised how much better you feel. If you don't feel comfortable relating your troubles to Al, try someone you're not as familiar with. Often it's easier to talk about things like that with someone you don't know as well; they're less likely to judge what you say."

"Are you suggesting I see a counselor?" I say coldly, my eyes narrowing suspiciously. They'll get a shrink over my cold dead body.

_My anger's violent, but still I'm silent when tragedy strikes at home.__  
I know this decadence is shared by millions; remember you're not alone.  
Remember you're not alone._

He frowns. "No, idiot. Are you determined to think I'm always looking for ways to make your life a pain?"

"Thus far that's precisely what you've been doing." I all-but-growl.

His lip twists and he looks away, sighing softly. "Well, I suppose that is my fault for antagonizing you. I did mean it when I apologized to you the other day. But no, I was only suggesting you find someone you know but to whom you aren't as close to as you are to Alphonse."

_Well if you just close your eyes, and just imagine everything's all right,  
But do not hide your tears, 'cause they were sent to wash away those years._

"As in you?" The words leave my lips before I can stop them, and I look down so that my bangs partially obscure the faint blush that dusts my cheeks.

I can feel the measured look Mustang pins on me. "I'd be more than willing to listen if you asked me to. I've gone through my own shit, so I can empathize slightly."

I look back up, realizing that since the sun is beginning to set it's harder to see in the dusky light. A slight smile creeps unbidden over my lips. "Thanks, Colonel."

He smiles back. "When we're not at work, just call me Roy, all right?"

* * *

I drift in and out of fitful slumber, woken regularly by the uncomfortable fact that just a day or two ago I had half my abdomen scrambled and patched together, and the fact that I'm in a hospital bed hooked up to all these machines and unable to turn over.

Sometime after midnight, I'm not sure when, a sudden noise wakes me up from a doze. I look around, my gaze falling on Mustang's sleeping form. He and Al have been taking turns keeping me company through the nights, though I've told both of them that I'm perfectly fine on my own. Neither of them fully trusts me, and I think they're still worried.

That's odd that Mustang suddenly seems so concerned. And it's not like he's _acting_ concerned; it's genuine. That makes me wonder a bit.

But my musings are cut short when the noise that woke me is repeated; a muted sort of noise that reminds me of a whimper. Mustang twitches fitfully, and as I peer harder at him I notice that his face is twisted into a grimace.

_Well if you just close your eyes, and just imagine everything's all right,__  
But do not hide your tears, 'cause they were sent to wash away those years.__  
They were sent to wash away those years.  
Maybe we can wash away those years._

_A nightmare? I'd never expect someone like him to have nightmares_. He whimpers again, twitching slight more violently. Now he's mumbling; it's too soft and disjointed for me to make any sense of it, but I can tell he's forming words. Now he shrinks down into the chair, an expression bordering on horror crossing his handsome features.

"Nng. N-… no… g-get… away… get away from me!" He whimpers, thrashing around. "Wasn't… wasn't my f-fault… had to…" His mumbling softens again, and I can't pick out the words.

With another thrash he's mumbling again, loud enough for me to clearly make out the disjointed sentences. "S-stop. Can't… get out… can't escape… you can't escape… can't d-die…" I now notice a bit of moisture beading in the corner of one eye.

"N-not my f-fault… you can't… can't run, can't hide. S-surrounded… surround them… no escape… DIE!" Suddenly his voice is a hoarse bellow, and he sits bolt upright. His eyes are wide, though from the faraway look he's still dreaming. "Dead… all dead… burned… the smell, God, the smell… burned hair, burned everything… burnt, dead…" A strangled noise akin to a muted sob escapes his slightly parted lips as a small silvery droplet leaves a glittering trail down his cheek. He shudders fitfully and falls back against the chair.

_Well if you just close your eyes, and just imagine everything's all right,  
But do not hide your tears, 'cause they were sent to wash away those years._

"Dead, all dead… no need for guns, when you have fire… good job, men. Wait, what's… what's that? G-gunfire… fire… the building's on fire… can hear the screams… that smell again… can you smell it…? I always smell it… It never leaves me… Never leaves me… leave me… leave me alone! It's not my fault…! Only f-following orders…"

Then it hits me. It's a nightmare about the war. He's flashing back to the Ishbalan civil war in his dreams. _Poor guy. I've always been told the war was more a massacre once the State Alchemists were brought in, but I never really put two and two together that the alchemists were sent in as killing machines. Alchemists like Mustang would've seen more than their fare share of carnage, and bloodied his hands more than most. It's no wonder then that he has nightmares._

_For we have crossed many oceans, and labored in between!  
In life, there are many quotients, and I hope I find the mean!_

"Nng… there's… there's more. Just some women and children… they can't harm us… Wait… no… Hold your fire! Dammit, it's women and children!" He's bellowing again, a few more tears carving rivulets into the skin of his face. "Hold your fire…! Fire… no. I… I can't b-burn… burn that building… It's… it's a sanctuary… only civilians in there… what? B-burn it… burn… that burnt smell… acrid, bitter… like the smell of death… everywhere around, the smell of death… the smell of blood and of death… the smell of charred human… that smell… makes me want to retch…" He made a small gagging noise.

I can't take listening to him anymore. "Colonel Mustang! Colonel, wake up! You're dreaming, it's a nightmare! Wake up, Colonel!"

"Dream… I hear it, see it, smell it in my d-dreams… that God-awful smell…"

_Well if you just close your eyes, and just imagine everything's all right,  
But do not hide your tears, 'cause they were sent to wash away those years._

Unable to get up I grab one of my pillows and lob it at him, catching him square in the face. He yelps and straightens up, blinking rapidly a few times. His breathing is heavy, and it catches regularly. I can see the sheen of cold sweat standing out on his skin, and even from this distance I see him quivering.

"Wh-… what?" He mutters, cupping his face in both hands and leaning over, propping his elbows on his knees.

"You were dreaming, Colonel. It woke me up, and I just couldn't listen to it." I swallow hard, wanting to reach out and comfort my badly-shaken superior.

He lets out a long, shuddering sigh and looks up, his eyes dull. "Sorry, Ed. I get those nightmares every now and then. You go back to sleep, I'm good now."

I snort scathingly. "You're sweating bullets, shaking like a lapdog and look like a deer in the headlights. You're no better off than I am at the moment."

The corner of his mouth twists up bitterly as he stands up. "Got me there, Ed. I'm gonna go to the bathroom, you go back to sleep."

"As soon as you give me my pillow back." I say, pointing to said object on the floor. He blinks absently at it and tosses it back to me, heading out the door.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't, okay Roy?" I call out him before he's completely out of sight, remembering his earlier request to address him by his first name.

_Well if you just close your eyes, and just imagine everything's all right,__  
But do not hide your tears, 'cause they were sent to wash away those years.__  
Maybe we can wash away those years.  
I hope that you can wash away those years…_

* * *

**And no, I didn't throw in the Ishbal nightmares just because I'm sadistic toward the characters. That's true, but that's not the main reason.**

**Sorry if the song started sorta late-ish, I needed to add that first little section so people aren't wondering what the hell's going on when Ed wakes up from the surgery.**


	5. Higher

**This'll probably be the last chapter, since I'm running out of songs. Once I finish the still un-typed RoyxEd I started writing a week or two ago, I may consider making a sequel to this, if enough people express a desire to read it.**

**This chapter's song is **_**Higher**_**, one of the most overplayed Creed songs in existence. It's sorta bunched up in one spot, 'cos since this is the last chapter I need to wrap up some of the loose ends and such, so the song only fits in the one spot. Ah well, that's what I get for making this a songfic. Hope you peeps enjoyed it.**

* * *

The corner of my eye twitches slightly as I glare at the meal brought to me. Hospital food is always pretty horrible, but they've added insult to already heavy injury by adding my most despised beverage.

"Ed, just drink the milk." Mustang says, exasperation coloring his bored tone.

"No. That stuff's disgusting. Anything secreted by a living thing that is opaque and white in color is the anti-Christ." I retort, wondering if he'll catch the double-meaning.

He does catch it, and has the grace to wince. Al, considering that he probably never will go through anything resembling puberty in that tin can he's stuck with, obviously misses the double-entendre. "Brother, milk isn't your enemy. You need the nutrients, especially since your body is trying to repair all those cracked ribs."

I polish off the last of the bland hospital food, still avoiding the milk. "Well I can get them other ways. I'm not drinking that milk."

"If you'd just drink the damn milk, maybe you wouldn't be so small." Mustang put in with a smirk.

I scowl irritably at the colonel, clenching my fists. "Shut up with the short jokes already! Just be glad I'm in no shape to move around, or I'd beat the ever-living shit out of your arrogant ass."

"And I could have you court-martialed for assaulting a superior officer." He retorts smoothly, still smirking in a manner that makes me want to cave his face in with my fist.

"And this is the umpteenth time you two have had this particular argument." Al sighs, shaking his head. "Just give it a rest already, will you?"

Suddenly, a nurse pokes her head in. "Excuse me, but the Elric brothers have a call. Someone from Resembool?"

Al stands with his usual clatter, tromping after the nurse to take the call. _Winry and Granny making sure I didn't die or try to kill myself again_. I think, sighing softly. They've called regularly since Al told them I'd woken up no worse for wear from the surgery, and I wonder if they're going to keep calling this frequently until I'm discharged.

"They're persistent, aren't they?" Mustang remarks, unknowingly echoing my thoughts.

"Yeah. They've been that way since before I can remember." I shrug slightly, wincing as the movement flexes a few abused muscles.

"You're lucky." He says, still looking at the half-open door.

"And you've said that like five times." I grump.

"I know. And it's true, Ed. A lot of people in situations like yours don't have anyone else who cares about them, so they end up sinking into a deep pit of depression they can only escape by ending their own lives." He smiles slightly, a sad, bitter twist to his lips.

"A lot of us were like that after the war. Alchemists and soldiers alike came home, and whether we were physically injured or not we all still bear the psychological scars." He looks at his gloved hand, clenching it loosely. "And not just the Amestrians either. The few Ishbalans that are still alive are just as troubled, if not more. Take Scar for instance." He snorts slightly. "Even though he's a serial killer, it's really our fault. If we hadn't fought that war, monsters like Scar wouldn't exist. Really, I'm not so much afraid of him as I pity him. Scar is one of the more tragic victims of the war."

I rub my bandaged side. The painkillers are starting to wear off, which means relative lucidity and an aching torso, making me less than charitable. "Glad you feel that way, but I'm afraid I don't precisely agree on that."

Mustang glances at me and the mirthless smile widens a bit, losing some of its bitterness. "I'm not surprised. Maybe it's just my own opinion, God knows most of my peers disagree." His lips twist again, as if he tasted something unpleasant.

He's been much more open about himself lately, since the night I woke up when he got a nightmare. I'm sure that only the people who were there with him know as much about Mustang's time in Ishbal; the sorts of things he's relating aren't the sort that anyone would easily explain. And not in the most politically correct of perspectives, either. If his superiors could hear the things he says about military command, he'd probably be court-martialed. He knows I hate the government and military just as much, so it's okay for him to share his opinions with me.

But the fact that he's told me so much is surprising. It's hard to share stuff like that, I know from recent experience. But he's pretty much been unburdening himself on me, and I feel oddly flattered.

In turn, I've opened up to him. I almost felt guilty that he was telling me so much about himself but I kept myself to myself, so we've been exchanging stories. By now, he knows almost as much as Al, Winry, and Granny. And a few things none of them are aware of.

He was right, it is easier to get something off your chest to someone you don't know as well than to a family member. Half the things I've told him I only hesitantly(if at all) explained to Al. And he was right again when he said I'd feel the better for it.

Damn him, he's right too often.

I think Al has noticed how I've been relaxing a bit, and how Mustang and I have started to lay off the arguing and are behaving less like bickering children. He seems happy with the change, not that I blame him.

Al is aware that I was mildly infatuated with the colonel, so maybe he thinks I've finally given into the infatuation. That crush was destroyed after the fight with Envy; of this I'm certain. I've mostly gotten over it, so by now I'm not nearly as skittish around Mustang. It's returned to mostly normalcy.

All the exchanging stories has gotten rid of the antagonizing behavior, for the most part. He still makes the occasional jab at my height, but I know it's only in jest. By now we're less like superior and subordinate, and more like friends. I like it this way, actually. He's a good friend, surprisingly enough. He listens to everything I say no matter how absurd it might be, and gives sound advice. When he means to be serious, at least. Often his sarcastic wit gets the better of him, and several times I've had to throw a pillow at him.

_When I'm dreaming, I'm guided to another world, time and time again.  
At sunrise I fight to stay asleep, 'cos I don't want to leave the comfort of this place,  
'Cos there's a hunger, a longin' to escape from the life I live when I'm awake._

So really, Mustang has become one of my few true "friends." I really hope that when I'm discharged we won't go back to the old bickering. My logic tells me that's unlikely, but that doesn't stop me from retaining the thought.

It's sort of weird that by now, Mustang knows more about me in some ways than anyone else. Like about the fight with Envy, for one thing. And what led me to try cutting. I feel like while the others would be sympathetic and try to help me, only Mustang would really _understand_. His experiences with the Ishbal civil war, and the time he told me he almost shot himself; he knows what I'm going through more than they do.

_So let's go there.  
Let's make our escape, come on, let's go there.  
Let's ask 'can we stay?'_

I feel kinda bad for keeping that stuff to myself with Al, but I'm still not comfortable enough to tell him about it. I'm going to have to eventually, but it might take me getting my nerve up.

"Hello? Earth to Ed?" He waves a hand in front of my face. "Enough with the blank staring."

"Huh? Oh, sorry. You trailed off and my mind went elsewhere." I reply with a slight smile.

_Can you take me higher?  
To a place where blind men see?  
Can you take me higher?  
To a place with golden streets?_

* * *

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I contemplate the tiled floor absently. Then, very gently, I slip off the bed, gingerly putting my weight back on my legs. The muscles of my abdomen that were damaged as a result of Scar's attack immediately protest the fact that they have to work again, but I ignore the ache and test out my balance. A few hesitant steps, standing on one leg and then the other and hopping up and down in place, and I have to stop myself from doing much more. I don't try walking around too far or fast or something I would do normally, since Mustang and one of the nurses are supervising me.

"Any aches where they shouldn't be?" The nurse asks, studying my movement closely.

"Besides the expected pain in my side, nope." I reply, stretching experimentally. "Everything feels all right."

"Good. You've made a rather remarkable recovery." The nurse grins, jotting a few notes down before stepping toward the door. "Another day or two to be safe and you'll be ready to go."

I sigh in relief, continuing to stretch. I've been bedridden for so long I feel stiff.

"No taking off at a dead sprint or sparring for another few days, though, Ed." Mustang warns sternly. "Take it easy for a bit once you're discharged."

I pull a disgruntled face, leaning against the wall. "Feh. Once I'm discharged, the only way I'm taking it easy is if I find something to study that demands my full attention in one place."

_Although I would like our world to change, it helps me to appreciate those nights and those dreams.  
But my friend, I'd sacrifice all those nights if I could make the Earth and my dreams the same,  
The only difference is to let love replace all our hate._

"Not if I have anything to do about it." Mustang replies, crossing his arms stubbornly.

I push off the wall with a scathing snort. "Considering that you think I need to take it easy I expect you won't give me any missions to do, and on my own time you can't really boss me around, can you?"

"I have ways, trust me. I have my ways." The way he made that statement sends a chill up my spine.

_So let's go there.  
Let's make our escape, come on, let's go there.  
Let's ask 'can we stay?'_

As I pace slowly around the room, my foot catches on a cord trailing from one of the machines to which I've been hooked up for over a month, tipping me off balance. I topple, arms swinging in a vain hope of regaining some sense of balance. Mustang steps forward, and I fall neatly against him. Mustang's arms wrap securely around my shoulders, making sure I don't fall again.

_Can you take me higher?  
To a place where blind men see?  
Can you take me higher?  
To a place with golden streets?_

I stiffen instinctively, the hair on the back of my neck pricking slightly. Refusing to give in to my body's paranoid reaction, I close my eyes tightly, willing myself not to whimper or scream or strike my superior officer. Since I don't let my body react the way it wanted to, I just remain still.

Mustang hums thoughtfully, bending his head so that it almost touches mine. "I would've thought you'd try to push away or something." He comments softly, neither removing his hands nor tightening his grip.

_So let's go there, let's go there,  
C'mon, let's go there.  
Let's ask 'can we stay?'  
_

"It's stupid to react that way." I grumble, my hands reaching up to grab handfuls of his uniform jacket. Now that the initial reaction has subsided, I relax a bit. Winry's rare hugs half the time turn into attempts to strangle me, Al's a giant bloody suit of armor, and Granny's my size, so their hugs are different. It's been a long time since I could be completely enveloped in someone's arms; so despite the initial hesitation I find it quite comforting.

_Can you take me higher?  
To a place where blind men see?  
Can you take me higher?  
To a place with golden streets?_

One of Mustang's gloved hands detaches from my shoulders, running fondly through my hair. It's been unbraided for a while, so it's a solid sheet of gold that falls well past my shoulders. I feel his warm breath on the top of my head as he speaks. "You've bounced back faster than I expected. I'm glad you've gotten better. Does this mean you won't give your brother and me another heart attack trying to kill yourself?"

_Oh up high I feel like I'm alive for the very first time!  
Said up high I'm strong enough to take these dreams and make them mine!  
Said up high I'm strong enough to take these dreams and make them mine!_

"Probably. Like you said, my body's got more sense than me sometimes." I snort slightly, still looking back on that little experiment with scorn. And yet, now that I've befriended Mustang and have been reminded that Al and Winry and Granny are there for me, I don't think I'll be inclined to try that again.

"Good." Mustang's other hand slips under my chin, tipping it up so I'm looking up into his face. The expression is slightly sad, which causes a guilty twinge somewhere in me. "It'd be a shame if you threw your life away. You really are a remarkable kid, Ed. Even if you worry us sometimes." He leans forward, gently brushing his lips over my brow.

_Can you take me higher?  
To a place where blind men see?  
Can you take me higher?  
To a place with golden streets?_

My heart palpitates suddenly, a blush dusting my cheeks. So the infatuation _is_ still there, it was just buried. Mustang watches my reaction, the resigned gleam still in his dark eyes. "Yeah, Al told me about that. I was a little surprised, to say the least. But it's easy to get to like you, Ed, and I'm no different."

I manage to meet his gaze. "So…" Is he saying he considers me a friend, or is he saying he returns my feelings?

"So, it's really a shame, the position we're in. Fraternization rules and all that." He smiles slightly, resting his chin against my brow.

_He returns my feelings. Dear God_. "Oh, yeah, that." I'd forgotten about those pesky rules. "Well, a public relationship beyond friend wouldn't be advisable in the first place." After all, I'm sixteen versus his early thirties, and any officer would be harder for most people to take serious if it were known he wasn't strictly heterosexual. A shame, but true.

A muted chuckle rumbles up from Mustang's chest, and he dips his head again. I don't freeze up like a deer in the headlights when his lips lightly caress my cheek; instead, my arms tighten around his ribs, and I suppress the urge to bury my face in his chest.

"Unfortunately." He agrees, going back to running his fingers through my hair again. "But I advise we try to act normal for a while, around the others."

"Uh huh." In this case, it's probably not going to be what most would call a relationship anyway. First and foremost, we're friends, and I'd like to keep my friend for a while before he becomes a lover. Secondly, my mind still clings to the memories of the fight with Envy, even though by now I'm just as at ease around Mustang as Al. Also, we both have things we plan to accomplish. He's going to be Fuhrer, and Al and I are going to find a Philosopher's Stone. That would get in the way of a "proper relationship."

_Can you take me higher?  
To a place where blind men see?  
Can you take me higher?  
To a place with golden streets…_

Abruptly, Mustang moves; he gently pushes me away, steering me until I'm seated back on my bed. He sits down next to me, and I take the liberty of moving closer until I'm pressed up against him. "So, have you told Al about what happened? Your encounter with the homunculus, I mean." He ventures quietly, turning his dark eyes to my face as he places a hand softly on my shoulder.

"I need to, but I haven't." I admit, wincing slightly. "I've tried to a few times, but I still can't bring it up."

His thumb rubs soothingly across my shoulder. "I don't blame you. You do need to tell him, though."

"Tell him what? Who is 'him?'" Comes Al's voice from the doorway as he clanks up, inclining his head curiously.

"Tell _you_…" I say, glancing away uncomfortably. I feel Mustang give my shoulder an encouraging squeeze, and glance gratefully at him before lifting my gaze. Al sits down in the chair Mustang had vacated earlier to keep me from falling on my face, his demeanor sobered slightly.

"Tell me what?" He asks softly, looking from me to Mustang and back.

"I should've told you a while ago, what happened when I fought Envy, but I couldn't bring myself to explain 'til now." I begin, unease sitting like a cold lump of steel in my stomach.

* * *

Al took it surprisingly well, which is a blessing. If he'd reacted the way I predicted, that would've made things very difficult. But he kept his cool, and I'm struck by how fast Al, and I for that matter, have been forced to grow up. Most fifteen-year-olds would completely flip if they found out their elder brother had been raped, but Al hardly turned a hair.

Pretty sad, but such is life. We can mourn over our lost childhood when we get Al's body and my limbs back.

Anyway, a remark Al made before he clattered out the room caught me, and Mustang, completely off guard. He said, "And Colonel, I expect you to be very careful with my brother."

That little sneak, he must've been eavesdropping on our conversation before he walked in. Well, at least he's showed he doesn't mind, in his own way. I had to smile back at him before he turned the corner and disappeared from view.

At the moment I'm back stretched out on my bed, which the nurses adjusted to be flat again so I can sleep on my side(the right one, of course). Mustang is slumped in the chair again, and I can start to hear him murmur incoherently. There he goes, I just heard him twitch. He must be having another nightmare.

I think it's this hospital. I hope he doesn't have nightmares this frequently under normal circumstances, he'd never get any sleep. Anyway, I should wake him up before the nightmare works him up to shouting. I sit up, slipping out of the bed, and pad over to his chair. He twitches again, his face twisted into a grimace, his lips almost closed as nonsense trickles from the part.

I lay a gentle hand on his cheek, leaning down to murmur in his ear. "Wake up, Roy. You're dreaming again."

The touch stirs him from sleep and his eyes snap open, holding a gleam of frightened confusion before he remembers where he is. He closes his eyes again as he lets out a long breath. "Mmf, have I told you how much I hate hospitals?"

"I can guess. Look, Roy, why don't you go home to sleep?" I suggest, peering at his face with mild concern.

"Nah, I don't wanna leave you here alone. God knows what you'd get up to unsupervised." He smiles wryly.

"Hah hah. But seriously, if you can't go to sleep here without having nightmares, go home."

He opens his eyes again, fixing me with a penetrating look. "You wake me up before the nightmares get too bad, so it doesn't bother me as much as when I get them at home when I'm alone. Besides, it's a perfect excuse to be in the same room as you." He adds slyly.

I have to smile. "Oh, fine. Ya pedophile. Don't wake me up with anymore nightmares, all right?" I turn to climb back in bed, but Mustang grabs my hand and holds it, kissing the metal knuckles fondly. He's never been unduly put off by my automail, which is surprising, but makes me feel that much more comfortable around him. He doesn't(openly at least) gape at the steel prosthetics.

"I'll try. Go back to sleep, if you want to be properly lucid to appreciate the freedom when they discharge you."

* * *

**A fluffier ending that expected, considering my very unstable state of mind and Muse at the moment. Oh well.**

**This thing's just begging for a sequel, isn't it? If you want one, pester me in your reviews and I'll add it to my to-do list.**


End file.
